Revenge Of The Hidden Boss

Chapter 7

“Alright,” Bruce said as he leaned back in the wooden chair, his patience visibly waning. He was obviously tired after waiting in the police station for so long. He glanced at Jonathan, who sat across from him with his arms crossed, staring blankly at the white walls of the police station. “Jonathan” Bruce called.

“Yeah man what's up?”

“I'm just wondering what's is taking them so long”

Jonathan let out a slow exhale. He was also tired of waiting to get the results of the fingerprint. “They said they’d get back to us as soon as they finish the fingerprint analysis.”

“I'm already exhausted right now.”

“We’ve already waited for so long, a little more patience won’t kill us.”

Bruce was slowly getting angry and impatient. “Two weeks, Jonathan. It's been two damn weeks and they’re just checking something as obvious as the cigar.

Before Jonathan could respond, the door opened, and Detective Martinez walked in with a file in hand. His expression was completely unreadable, but the slight tightening of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce.

“What's the news? What do you have for us?”

“whose fingerprint is it? Who's the crazy bastard who shot me?” Bruce asked with anger.

“Easy there Bruce,” Martinez began, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from them. “We’ve got some results.”

“Who did it?” Bruce leaned forward, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. “Who is it? Whose fingerprint was on the cigar?” He asked.

Martinez placed the file on the table but didn’t open it immediately. He looked from Bruce to Jonathan, as if gauging their readiness for the revelation. “The fingerprints on the cigar matched someone we weren't even expecting.”

“Shit!” Bruce was tired of waiting, he scratched the back of his head quickly before saying “Enough suspense, Detective. Who is it?”

Martinez flipped open the file and slid a paper toward them. At the top of the page was a photo of the assassin who attempted to eliminate Bruce.

“What the shit! This can't be real!” Jonathan froze when he recognized the face staring back at him.

“Wait, you know the man?” Bruce asked.

“Hell yeah I know him. I can't believe this.”

“Who is he?”

Jonathan's voice dropped to a near whisper. “Gernacho!”

Bruce’s forehead creased in confusion. “Wait, the janitor? The guy who works at Forbes’ house? The same guy you said defended me at the hospital when people were talking shit about me?”

Jonathan nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he pieced things together. “Yes it's him. He was the one who told me Forbes hired a hitman. He said he overheard everything.”

“This is getting more crazy!” Bruce threw up his hands in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Why the hell would he defend me if he’s the one who tried to kill me in the first place?”

“I'm as confused as you are right now. But we're gonna find out.”

Jonathan turned to look at photo again in disbelief. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would Gernacho go to such lengths to make himself look innocent? And why would a janitor suddenly become a hitman in the first place?”

Bruce clenched his fists. “Whatever is his reason for doing this, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that the son of a bitch has been playing us.”

Bruce and Jonathan still couldn't believe the information they just got. “So it's been Gernacho all this while? That janitor who looked so innocent.”

The ride back home was unusually quiet. Jonathan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing. Bruce sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the road but his thoughts were clearly somewhere else.

“Jonathan.”

“Bruce.”

“You really think Gernacho is the mastermind?” Bruce finally asked, breaking the silence.

Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know what to think anymore. But something doesn’t add up. Why would he give Forbes up to the police when he knows fully well that he's also involved in the shooting? And why did he defend you at the hospital?”

Bruce scoffed. “Maybe it was all part of some sick plan. Gain our trust, then strike when we least expect it. Isn't that what they always do?”

Jonathan nodded grimly. “Maybe.”

They stopped at a red light, and the glow of the traffic signal reflected Jonathan’s expensive car.

“Look at that sexy car.” A girl pointed from a distance.

“Why do I feel so uncomfortable right now?” Bruce started.

“Bad things happen when people say that.”

Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires filled the air. A black car swerved into view, its windows rolling down. Bruce’s instincts kicked in just as he saw the glint of a gun barrel. “What the shit! Someone's onto us.” Bruce said as he ducked. “Jonathan, get down!” he shouted.

‘Thaw!’ ‘Thaw!’ ‘Thaw!’ Shots were fired. And it was too late. A rapid burst of gunfire shattered the the glasses of the car and pieces of glasses rained down on them as bullets tore through the car.

“Ah!” Jonathan cried in pain as bullet hit his chest, blood staining his shirt.

“Shit! Jonathan! Are you alright?” Bruce yelled, panic surging through him. Without thinking, he pushed Jonathan’s limp form aside, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Hold on man, I'm gonna take you to the hospital. Stay with me. Just hold on.”

Brcuce held his hands tight on the steer as

he fired ahead. The black car sped off into the night as Bruce kept saying“Stay with me, man,” he turned to see if Jonathan was still breathing “can you hear me?” he muttered, his hands shaking as he tried to tighten his grip on the wheel. “You’re not dying on me. Do you hear me? You're not dying in this car Jonathan.”

With one hand steering and the other trying to apply pressure to Jonathan’s wound, Bruce raced through the streets, his heart pounding. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, “Get the fuck outta my way you gypsy bastard!” He yelled at a reckless driver who was obviously drunk.

As he neared the hospital, Bruce slammed on the horn, swerving into the emergency lane. Nurses and doctors rushed out as he skidded to a stop.

“He’s been shot!” Bruce shouted, flinging the door open. “He needs help now!”

No time was wasted and the medical team sprang into action, pulling Jonathan onto a stretcher and wheeling him inside. Bruce followed, his face pale and his shirt soaked with Jonathan’s blood.